Marco is staring at the tree on the corner, oblivious to the question.
“We're heading north,” I reply. “And then home to Brisbane.”
“Bloody oath, that's a fair hike,” he laughs.
“Certainly is.”
Which is why we’ve stopped to refuel.
“Bit out in the woop woops, aren't ya?”
Woop woops, indeed,I smile.For my woop woops man.
“Visiting family,” I explain.
“Got the feeling you weren't from around here.”
The number on the fuel pump screen ticks beyond one hundred and continues to climb.
Marco is still staring at the tree.
Flannel Man studies my face.
“Yeah, come to think of it, you look like Donna's boy.”
I know he’s just being friendly, but it’s starting to feel awkward now.
The hose guzzles, then clicks to a halt.
Tank full.
I take my darling by the hand to guide him back toward the truck.
A gentle shoulder squeeze.
A tender kiss on the cheek, holding the door open for him as he climbs inside.
“We'd better get going,” I say, waving farewell to the nosey local.
But the wave is not returned.
My fuel pump friend has a sour expression on his face.
Must have noticed the hand holding and the cheek peck.
His nose is scrunched in disapproval.
“Fucking pansies,” he mutters under his breath.
And not in a gardening sense.
The thud of my door brings a comforting sense of retreat.
Crisp air from the vents is a welcome sensation.
Especially after spending hours in Louise’s garden.
“Need a coffee before we go, bub?”
